An Elf's Last Request
by Rain Minstrel
Summary: Captured, tortured and dying, Legolas reflects on what his last request might be. AU. A/L. One-off fic - complete; no sequels. R for violence.


An Elf's Last Request

**_There were so many things he might have asked for. _**

**_He might have asked forgiveness of Aragorn._**

***

'These walls your people built, Aragorn, are closing ever more swiftly around me as I stay,' Legolas said gravely. In truth he had not slept for many nights now, missing the sky and the stars of the night. It was like trying to sleep in a tomb, muffled beneath so many layers of cold stone. 

Aragorn sighed in resignation. 'Will you never be used to the Halls of Men, my friend?'

'I have been with you for nearly a whole season, Aragorn. The earth still slept beneath its blanket of snow when I arrived, and I fear I have missed the awakening of the mountains as I linger here.'

'What is one more spring, Legolas, when you are promised all the springs that shall ever cover this earth?' Aragorn said impatiently. The prospect of so many months without his elf chafed at him. He knew he would not be able to concentrate, that the warm winds of spring would tug ever harder at the Ranger within him, when Legolas was gone. 'You are immortal – spring shall be there this year, and next, and in all the years long after I have passed from these mortal shores.'

Sorrow wrenched at Legolas as he thought of the passing of his lover, as he imagined Aragorn fading like the winter snow at the advent of spring. His grace, his kindness, his love lost forever. _By the Valar, he thought desperately. __Grant that I may never see that day come. It was futile, he knew. The treacherous day would come, and he would have to find a way to live beyond the death of Aragorn. But he was also angry, that Aragorn would use his one fear, his one sorrow, against him in such a way._

'You will still be waiting here when I return – but spring will not,' replied Legolas.

Aragorn's eyes glittered dangerously, as he crossed the room in three smooth strides to stand before the elf. They were so close that Legolas could feel the warmth radiating from the man. It flowed over his elf-cool skin; he suppressed a shiver despite himself. This close, Legolas could feel his body responding in ways that he could not control. His breath quickened, almost imperceptibly. Aragorn was half a hand taller than him, and he used that height to his advantage.

'And if I choose not to wait?' said Aragorn softly.

Legolas tilted his face up to meet the other's angry eyes.

'Then I will not return.'

Aragorn growled, a sound of primal anger and need. 

They both knew that he would wait, and that Legolas would return.

'Am I not enough for you?' Aragorn demanded, 'that you must depart so often to wander the lands of Arda?'

'You are enough for me, in the way that all the waters of Ulmo are enough for me to quench my thirst. But I still need the open air, and I still need the beat of freedom in my ears. And am I not enough for you? Come, leave this cold stone place behind, and journey with me for a season.'

'That is different,' muttered Aragorn, wanting nothing more than to shrug off the heavy mantle he bore, and to exchange it for the non-descript dress of Strider. 'I am king. I cannot simply leave for a season or two when I feel like it!'

'Well,' said Legolas coldly. 'You cannot, but I can. I shall see you upon my return then.'

'Wait,' pleaded Aragorn, suddenly feeling more alone than he'd ever been before. 'Tell me you love me, before you go.'

But his words hung in the air as the door clicked softly shut behind Legolas.

***

**_He might have asked he be given a moment, as the sun rose for the last time that he would ever see, that he could sing the hymn to the dawn, as befitted an Elf._**

***

He couldn't breathe. His tormentor, the Other, had flung a handful of grey powder in his face. Legolas' sudden gasp of surprise meant that he had inhaled it. It burned his nose and mouth, trailing fire down his throat and into his lungs. Each breath in tore at his chest, each breath out made him think his lungs would collapse. He didn't have the energy to breathe, let alone sing.

The world was a dark red wash of pain, and filled with the humming of a thousand, mad, bees.

***

**_He might have asked to let his friends believe that he had died cleanly, of a single arrow to the chest._**

***

The Other had beaten him first, but it soon became clear that the Other preferred the subtle use of blades. Legolas had grown used to the dull ache of his bruised and broken body. It was constant. The pain never lessened, but nor did it grow sharp. It was almost like, he mused deliriously, the slow, solemn beat of a drum. Its rhythm lulled him towards sleep, only somehow Legolas knew that that sleep, while restful, would be eternal. _How silly, he thought. __Of course I won't sleep forever, I'll be up before the dawn, Aragorn, and up before you, too! _

But the voice in his head insisted, and grudgingly Legolas obeyed. He couldn't think why he obeyed, though. Could it be…? The voice sounded familiar. But no, Aragorn was the King, not Strider, so why would he be talking in Legolas' head? Legolas' tired brain tried to make sense of it all, and failed. But he couldn't deny Aragorn anything, so he couldn't sleep, couldn't lay aside the pain for a little while and wander the path of Elven dreams. 

Then the real pain had come, when tiny knives with blades thinner than snowflakes and keener than frost had sliced through his skin. Warm red wetness had run in rivulets from the cuts, and Legolas was grateful, for a moment, for the heat on his cold-wracked body.

***

**_He might have asked he be granted the grace to leave this world in quiet dignity._**

***

He had drawn in breath to scream, as his body felt like it was bursting into flame. Everywhere, cruel little knives tore at his skin, and soon it was smooth and fine no more, but marred with red – russet red as the blood dried, and bright, glistening red as more blood was drawn. But as he had drawn in breath, the grey powder burned his lungs, and the scream came out as nothing more than a series of broken, gasping coughs.

Legolas tried to squirm away from the source of the pain, but found that something held him fast. He had opened his eyes, but saw nothing but a swirling haze of red and black._ Why can't I see? Aragorn, take this blindfold off at once! Ai! What are you doing? Don't – Oh, oh…_

But there was no pleasure, no sudden euphoria, only more fire and pain as he tried to move. He writhed in the dirt, and, unbidden, tears spilt from his unseeing eyes. 

_Lips had kissed back the lone tear that left a silver trail on his cheek. _

_'Don't cry,' came a voice, whisper-soft. 'I will never hurt you.'_

_And Aragorn had kept his promise, and for his first time, and each time after that, Legolas had __nev__er known pain._

There was pain now, pain as he had never felt before. His skin was on fire, his throat and lungs burned. He bucked as he felt a new line of blood being drawn from his skin, and, to his horror, realised that his body would not move. And that only the tiniest drop of red warmth ran from the cut. 

At last he felt the pain beginning to numb, but along with the pain went the sensation in his body. He could not tell whether he was lying, bound and broken, on the ground, or hovering, unsupported in the air. It was peaceful, he supposed, but rather lonely. Even the Other seemed to have left, abandoning him like rats abandoning a sinking ship. 

_Come back_, thought Legolas desolately, not knowing if he meant the Other – Valar forbid! – or the feeling in his body, or Aragorn, or his scattering train of thoughts.

***

**_He prayed, instead, that at the last, there would be strong arms around him, a gentle voice to soothe him, and a loving presence by him, as he slipped forever from these mortal shores._**

***

His prayers, it seemed, were not being heard. Perhaps he had to pray louder. _For Valar's sake, Aragorn, how am I going to pray louder?! You think of the silliest things sometimes. Will you not just let me be so I can sleep? It's bad enough that I couldn't sleep in your castle of stone, now you must prevent me from sleeping under the open sky?_

He was alone, he knew that. He thought, even if there was a person by his body, he would not see them through the red haze, nor hear them through the humming of his thoughts. 

There was only the barest link with his body now, but Legolas knew he had to do one last thing before he abandoned it forever. It would be his last gift, though its intended would never receive it, and no-one would ever hear it.

The feeble breath he took burned without him feeling it. The word was no more than a stirring of the air, but Legolas smiled, faintly, as he spoke for the last time. 

'Aragorn.'


End file.
